


A House is Not a Home

by whitewolfandthefox



Series: Geralt x Reader One Shots [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Fluff, Not A Happy Ending, SO SORRY, Whole lot of Angst, injuries, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitewolfandthefox/pseuds/whitewolfandthefox
Summary: Geralt comes back from an extended trip to find your shared home in disarray and you missing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: Geralt x Reader One Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645222
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62





	A House is Not a Home

Roach slowly made her way up the path to the little cottage tucked deep into the forest, head hanging low. It had been so long since Geralt had seen you, and he had missed you sorely. He desperately wanted to be in your comforting presence again, it had been months since he had been back home with you.

As he approached the cottage, he could see that the windows were dark and the air was still. It was odd for you not to be up and about at this time, but Geralt figured that you maybe were in town running errands or hadn’t been feeling well and had gone to bed. You were often found in the village, administering medicine or healing to the villagers who needed you, or just offering a comforting word or a shoulder to cry on to your friends. After all, you didn’t know that he was coming back today, he hadn’t expected you to be waiting for him.

Dismounting, he led Roach into the small stable next to your home, unsaddling his mare and putting her into one of the stalls. He filled her space with straw and put fresh water into her trough, making sure she was comfortable for the night. Grabbing his bags, he exited the stable and closed the door behind him, heading for the front door of our home. He moved slowly, tired from the long hunt that had kept him away for so long. All that Geralt wanted right now was a hot bath and then to hold you close throughout the night, to be assured that everything was still right with the world.

As he reached out to turn the door handle, he realized that the door was slightly ajar, the framing splintered. Immediately on alert, Geralt dropped his bags at his feet, drawing his sword. He listened intently, trying to find your heartbeat, footsteps, anything that might tell him where you were. Hearing nothing, he pushed the door open, entering the room before stopping in dismay.

The room was trashed. All of your books had been swept off the shelves, couches overturned, curtains torn to shreds. Ignoring the chaos in the front space, he quickly crossed to the hallway, rushing towards where your bedroom was. “Y/N?” he called, desperate to hear your voice, to make sure you were ok.

Slamming the door open, he froze at the sight that awaited him. Your bed, standing in the middle of the room, was torn to pieces. And the blood. It covered everything. The pillows strewn across the floor, the blanket spilling off the side of the broken bed frame, everything was soaked in the horrid crimson colour. Inhaling, Geralt could smell your fear, an acrid scent that still hung in the air. Dropping to his knees next to the blankets, the blood was still wet, signalling that this had happened recently.

Panic rising, he desperately searched for a sign that you were still in the cottage, refusing to acknowledge that he couldn’t hear your heartbeat as he normally could. Spotting more blood stains, he rushed over to the door that led to the small garden at the back of the structure. He could see drag marks through the dirt and out of your yard. Sword still unsheathed, Geralt rushed in the direction that the marks led in the direction of the forest.

Blindly, he ran through the forest, imagining all of the terrible things that the men who grabbed you could be doing. His sweet, innocent lover, your main purpose in life was to help others. Even the thought that you could be in pain tore at Geralt’s soul.

Moving deeper into the trees he began to hear the voices of men, cruel sounding as they laughed and taunted you. He could hear your whimpers, hear you pleading with them to please not hurt you. He could hear you screaming, desperately calling for him to save you. As he ran, the wind shifted, bringing with it your distinct scent, the smell of lilacs and healing herbs. Underlying that scent was the bitter smell of pain and fear, accompanied by the coppery taint of blood.

Baring his teeth, Geralt broke through the treeline into a clearing, surprising the group of men gathered around a pile of white cloth. Recovering quickly, they drew their weapons and turned towards him. “What do you want?” The man who Geralt supposed was the leader stepped forward, shaking his sword at him. “Name yourself and be on your way.”

Ignoring the man, Geralt’s golden eyes swept the clearing, desperate for a glimpse of you. As he looked, he could see a small hand accompanying the pile of white cloth, which was slowly turning red. His vision clouded in a haze of rage, his eyes narrowing on the group in front of them as a growl rumbled out of his chest. The leader paled, taking a step back.

A shout erupted from Geralt’s throat, ringing through the clearing as he attacked. The trees were filled with the sound of steel on steel, the grunts and moans of the men left on the ground as Geralt cut through them with a ferocity rarely seen unless those he cared about were in danger. As he struck the last man down, the clearing fell silent.

Dropping his sword, Geralt rushed to where he thought he had seen you earlier, falling to his knees next to your prone form. “Y/N?” he reached out and shook you, withdrawing his hand sharply when you didn’t respond, limp as if you were a ragdoll.

Slowly, he rolled you onto your back, desperately searching for a pulse as the panic built in his chest. Finding none, seeing your white night clothes slowly staining red, hiding the gruesome wounds you suffered, Geralt sat back on his heels as his world shattered around him, a darkness pulling at his chest, wiping him of the hope he had been experiencing at the thought of seeing you, of seeing your smile earlier that day. He stared at you, at the terrified expression on your face, how your Y/E/C eyes looked lifelessly at the sky that you had loved so much above you. He thought about how he had failed to protect you, how he had been gone so long. If he had come back even a day earlier, you would still be alive, you would still love him. Reaching out, he closed pulled your eyelids down, hiding the accusing stare that reminded him of his failure.

Gathering your lifeless body into his arms, his shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. He pressed his face into your hair, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent that would never again be part of his life. The warm memories of his life with you were hidden behind a shadow of grief, washed away by the tears running down his face. Standing, Geralt lifted your body and made his way back to the cottage, no longer his home. His face was cold, guarded, locked behind the mask that you had slowly dismantled, the mask that he now hid behind after your death.

Righting the mattress in your bedroom, he lay you down, covering your body with a blanket. Slowly moving into the main room of the house, he gathered kindling and wood from your firebox before taking them back to where your body lay, building a pyre in your room. Starting a flame, Geralt stepped back and watched the fire grow, spreading until it covered the room.

He left the house, saddling Roach and leading her out of the gate. He watched the house slowly be consumed by flames, before turning and mounting Roach, riding away from the house that was no longer his home.


End file.
